Page 17 of Hot Shot Rock Star
“No. They’re not, Jaz. And you know it. Don’t be a—”
“What? A bitch? But that’s who I am. You should be used to it by now.”
“God damn it, don’t ruin our afternoon of lovemaking with stupid talk.” I reach for her and she moves away, slipping on her top.
It’s my hockey jersey. The sight of my name and number on her back calms me, settles my heart rate closer to normal. I do know better. But I always hope for more from her. Maybe I need to stop hoping so much.
Fuck that. Stopping my hope is suicide. For both of us. I heave a sigh and follow her from the bedroom to the kitchen. Going to the fridge, I grab a bottle of water.
“Look,” she says. I have to be in the studio this weekend. We’re putting the finishing touches on the album.” She closes the space between us and leans into me. I squash the urge to say they’ve been putting the finishing touches on the album for weeks now. “Why don’t you take Dooley instead of me? I’ll call him.”
. I don’t argue. My parents will be there and Mom gets a kick out of Dooley.
“Don’t get mad, Bennie. This album has to be perfect. I’m a rookie, too, you know?”
When she puts it that way I can’t argue, because how many times have I sited my rookie status for staying at the rink late and getting in early to practice?
“Shit.” I don’t know what else to say and she laughs at me.
“I’ll try and make an appearance if I can get out in time. How’s that?”
We throw on our coats and head to the door together when I remember that Majik called earlier.
“What about Thanksgiving at Majik’s. She insists on cooking. She wants to spend the holiday with us, to see you.”
“Don’t pull the Majik card, Bennie. You know it’s against the rules. That’s between me and her.” We stand in the open doorway, staring at each other. I don’t know what to say. Technically she’s right and it would be a two day trek to go up to New Hampshire for the holiday.
“How about if I make her come to our place and cook. She can stay overnight with us.”
“You want the boys stranded at BMOC House to starve?”
“She can make up boxed breakfast and lunch for them and get back for dinner Friday.”
I smile. “I’m game if you can get Majik to agree. I’ll invite my mom and dad.” I’ll let Majik have this argument with her.
* * *
Over the weekend,I have a game on Saturday while Jazzy has a gig at a small venue in Connecticut. On Sunday I go to the charity event for St. Jude’s at a rink with Dooley and my parents. My parents don’t stay long because the cold bothers my dad, but Dooley has them laughing the whole time, almost making my dad forget to shiver. After they leave, I check my watch, but if I leave early, I’ll look bad and Jaz won’t be home yet anyway.
“Jazzy told me she won’t be home until eight or nine. I don’t know how you New Yorkers can stand eating dinner so late. But when in Rome, right? So when she texts me, we’re going to meet her at Mustang Harry’s for dinner and drinks.”
“Mustang Harry’s? It’s a hockey bar. We can do better than that for dinner.”
“No you don’t. I told half your teammates today we were all meeting there.”
“What the fuck?” I laugh. But what did I expect? Dooley is at home wherever he goes and with whoever he meets.
“Your friend Kodi is a hoot,” he says. “I wonder if he’s bi?” I almost choke on the Pepsi I’m drinking.
“Let’s get back to the kids,” I say. The guys are all shooting pucks at kids dressed up as goalies or skating around the ice, holding hands with whoever can stand on skates. For the kids who can’t stand, we’re pushing them around in wheel chairs which are surprisingly hard to control on ice, so that half of the rink degenerates into a slow and gentle version of dodge cars with wheelchairs, but there are too many kids laughing and squealing in delight to hear any complaints. Dooley joins in all the action, like the rest of the family members, handing out refreshments and team swag. He scoffed a team jersey for himself and wears it like the wannabe he is. He doesn’t appreciate it when I call him on it and gives me his signature lowbrow glare, which makes me laugh.
“And who do we have here?” Coach takes a hot chocolate from Dooley and gives it to his little girl.
“An old college friend—”
Dooley doesn’t let me do the introduction, interrupting me once again to give his version of our relationship.
“We started out as frat brothers who are now morphed into real brothers, tighter than ever. I’m down from SPU in New Hampshire to give my support to family. I love your hockey team.” It’s my turn to cut Dooley off before he gives away the fact that he knows nothing about hockey.
